SHADOWFAX WANTS TO RIDE

Long ago, in the time of Aladdin and Sinbad, voyagers journeyed for years to find the Magic Carpets of lore. I liken such carpets to my trusty Beemer.

Whenever Shadowfax (named of course for Gandalph's swift and indefatigable stead) and I head out on a journey neither of us know what awaits.

We ride most usually toward only a direction. "Today," I say, "we ride Northwest." The next day I might declare, "we ride South." We ride toward whatever is calling us that day.

That freedom of travel, that freedom of vision, is nothing short of magical. Shadowfax is my magic carpet. He goes wherever I ask him. He is a trusted and valued traveling companion.

There are times when I forget that he is just a machine. I've noticed little things about him that seem to make him more mortal than mechanical.

He was recently parked next to another lovely Beemer and I swear I saw him inching closer to it. I'm not sure whose bike it was, but it appeared more feminine than he. I blinked to look again: he was defnintely flirting with the other bike. "Good boy," I rather predictably thought to myself. (It's a guy thing.)

Aladdin had his genie -- Ali Babba had his Thieves. I have a magic carpet that I call Shadowfax.

I sit alone tonight. I feel as if he is calling to me from the garage. He wants to ride again. I wonder if he is thinking about that Beemer he met?